


Worthy

by AlexKingOfTheDamned



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: First Time Bottoming, Foot Fetish, Foot Massage, M/M, Master/Slave, Past Rape/Non-con, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has some issues with his feet, and letting Anders touch them. </p><p>Anders is absolutely determined to shatter everything Fenris thinks is true about his feet, and what it means to have them touched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthy

**Author's Note:**

> So, to start off, I don't myself have a foot fetish. Neither does the person I wrote this with (who resides over at selapetrae.tumblr.com ) but! We both came to the conclusion that Fenris absolutely would. 
> 
> And then we wanted to explore that idea. So we did.

The mission could have ended in disaster, the poor elf Feynriel had almost lost his freedom. If there was one thing that Anders could hate almost as much as Templars, it was slavers. An exhausting battle lead to their victory and Feynriel chose to join the Dalish who he believed to be the best choice to control his magic. All in all, it was rewarding, if not messy.

 

It had been an emotionally charged day for the poor elf. Fighting so many slavers, killing so many of them, spilling their blood over the streets of darktown was a reward in itself, even if they hadn’t managed to find the boy. Indeed, Fenris’ goal was to stand by Hawke’s side and find him at all costs, but just the act of tallying up the bodycount was enough for Fenris to feel accomplished. He’d personally felled 18 slavers to his sword, and that didn’t count all the men who Hawke or Merrill or Anders dispatched. Thinking about all those hands that will never touch another slave again for eternity, all those men who won’t pass on their wicked ways to sons who will grow up and hurt more slaves-- it’s nearly overwhelming to think about how many peoples’ lives he may have indirectly improved just by killing one man, let alone eighteen.

 

Anders was utterly drained from healing everyone, he hadn't had enough lyrium potions for that fight. After stumbling their way through town leaning their weight on one another, Fenris and Anders had managed to make it back to the mansion. The healer had graciously let the elf bathe first before taking his time getting clean, he was always rather meticulous about it.

 

Fenris barely had the energy to walk from the washroom into the bedroom, collapsing nude and facedown on his moth-eaten bed. The exhaustion of a very active day has sunk deeply into his muscles, and even with his face smashed in the pillows, he knows he could comfortably lie here for a few years and still not want to get up.

 

Anders, also, didn't bother putting on any clothes as he strode into the bedroom, covering his yawn with a hand. His gaze traveled down over Fenris' naked body, admiring each curve illuminated by those pale markings which act as a pleasant nightlight for the dark-fearing mage every night, until he makes it to the poor elf's feet.

 

A wince wrinkled his features as he noticed the cracked and dry skin. Anders immediately bee-lined for his satchel to fish out a bottle of oil. He pours a generous amount on his hands, rubbing them together to warm the oil before he snatched up one of Fenris' feet. His fingers glide over the soles in an attempt to smooth out the cracks.

 

The elf had drifted off into a light doze when he was slightly roused by the bed dipping under the mage’s weight. He shifts slightly, with half a mind to say something to the man, but he can’t quite work up the nerve to expend the effort, he’s so comfortable.

 

That is, until he feels hands touch his foot. His eyes snap open and he jerks away, flipping over and scrambling up to the headboard. His eyes are wide, pupils blown so large his brilliant green eyes are nearly black, and his ears point ever so slightly down.

 

“That’s alright,” he says quickly, clearing his throat awkwardly when he sees the way Anders looks at him. “You do not need to do that.”

 

Anders snatches his hands back as the elf scrambled away from him, a look of concern making his brows rise in confusion. "Have I done something wrong, Fenris?" His hands were still slick from the oil so he didn't want to put his hands on anything including himself. "I just noticed that your feet and they look like they hurt. I just wanted rub some oil into them."

 

“They do not hurt,” Fenris lies, tucking his feet beneath him as if to protect them. For some reason he can’t seem to meet Anders’ eyes, which is concerning to the mage. In all the time he’s known Fenris, he’s never known him to have trouble maintaining eye contact.

 

"Are you ticklish then?" Anders settles on the edge of the bed, his hands perched lightly between his thighs. "Help me understand, please. You reacted as if I just tried to set your feet on fire." He could see that something was wrong, the elf has never refused to meet his gaze. "I wanted to make you feel good."

 

Fenris’ cheeks go hot. He rubs his palms up and down his own thighs, his jaw visibly flexing, his eyes and brows moving together in microexpressions. Anders can see him thinking.

 

“No, I am not ticklish,” he says, even though it would be easier to lie to the mage. “Please, it is nothing. Don’t worry for it.”

 

The healer narrows his eyes at Fenris, he knows something is up but not quite what it is. Anders nearly touches his hair with a hand before he remembers that they're covered in oil.

 

"Be honest with me, Fenris. Why don't you want me touching your feet? Did something bad happen?"

 

Fenris sighs. Of course. It’s in Anders’ nature to question. He draws his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, folding one of his feet on top of the other.

 

“No,” he rests his cheek on his arms, looking the other way. “It is just that… well, I want to think of you as my equal. You _are_ my equal. I will not let you degrade yourself by tending to my feet like a… like a slave.”

 

"What?" Anders actually snorts out a laugh, brushing his hair out of his face with the back of his hand. "Fenris, no. That's not..." He sighs and crawls himself up to the elf. "This is not degradation at all. This is me, as a healer, saying those feet need some tender loving care and I want to do it."

 

He points to those feet and eyes Fenris through narrowed lids. "Those feet look like the surface of a desert."

 

Fenris shies away from Anders, his toes curling in the sheets. “I… understand where you are coming from,” he says, his body tense and ready to flee. “But you must understand. I spent many nights tending to my master’s feet… worshipping them when he asked… cleaning and oiling them… crawling after them when he bade me. There were days I would spend, hours upon hours gazing at nothing but master’s feet.”

 

He looks ill about it now, scowling deeply and looking away. “Master’s feet is where I belonged. They were the lowest part of him, and yet it was an honor that I was allowed to touch them at all. It was a symbolic act. A constant reminder that I was worth less than the lowest part of his body. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you do that.”

 

"I see." Anders stops advancing on the elf and plops down in front of him. "I won't force you to let me rub your feet but that's not what this is at all." His tongue flicks out over his lips to wet them, shaking back his damp hair from his face. "I don't think I'm worth less than you and I know you don't feel that way about me."

 

His shoulders sag a little, he reaches up to rub at his nose with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry for reminding you of that horrible memory. My healing instincts took over when I noticed your feet. I only meant to make you feel pleasure and honestly, I want to lavish you with affection. Everywhere. From your feet to your ears."

 

Fenris rubs at his arms anxiously, still frowning and looking off to the side. “I don’t… think I am _allowed_ to let you touch my feet. It feels wrong. Like I would get in trouble.”

 

Anders' brows shoot upwards at that, he shook his head sadly. "Fenris, you're allowed to do whatever you want. No one is going to punish you for this or anything else we do together."

 

Fenris looks up, his eyes wide and searching, brows flat with concern. He doesn’t seem at all convinced.

 

"...Love." His tone is soft, he reaches up to brush knuckles gently over Fenris' cheek. "You can do anything you want now. No one can stop you from enjoying it. You're safe to do whatever you please."

 

Fenris sighs and tips forward, resting his forehead in the crook of Anders’ neck. He rubs his hand up the mage’s skinny thigh, nuzzling into Anders’ throat. “It does not feel real,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I know I am free, I know it has been years since Danarius has come looking for me, but it feels as though if I let you attend to my feet, he will spring out of a closet and whip me while laughing, lecturing me for ever daring to think that somebody would touch the lowest part of somebody who is lower than _his_ lowest part--”

 

His voice cracks and he throws an arm around Anders’ shoulder, the other bracing him on the bed.

 

Anders turns to press a tender kiss against the elf's ear, his body quivers in delight when a hand rubs along his thigh. "Shall I check the closet for you." He murmurs gently, already knowing what Fenris will say. "He is not here, my love. He can't hurt you now or ever. I will not allow him to hurt you even if he shows up, be it one month or hundreds." His hands hesitate on touching the elf, the oil is still slick on his digits.

 

"Fenris, no one will ever hurt you again. I'll make sure of it." He places another kiss on Fenris' shoulder.

 

Fenris grits his teeth, swallowing hard. Even free as he is, for many years, he still thinks back on being a slave for the strangest of things. His eating habits, how he holds himself when he sits, how he addresses strangers, how he allows his own lover to touch him.

 

It’s so difficult to reconcile the idea of letting another person touch his feet when it was frequently and severely beaten into his mind, the idea that he is the lowest thing in the world. The very idea that somebody would willingly touch the lowest part of the lowest thing in the world, the thought that _Anders_ would touch that part of him-- Anders, who shines like a beacon of righteousness and kindness, Anders who has spent his entire life fighting against everybody who tried to put that light out--

 

He realizes he’s crying now, as Anders lays him down on his back. “Alright,” he whispers hoarsely. “Alright.”

 

Anders was always patient with the elf when it came to his memories of being a slave, he never berates him or treats him differently during these episodes. His touches are always careful and precise, his words always gentle. Even now, he wipes Fenris' tears away with his knuckles and whispers soft words. "Slow, deep breaths." He whispered into an ear. "Everything is okay. You're here with me and you're safe."

 

The healer pauses above Fenris, glancing down with a bewildered gaze. "Alright?" He questions although he's sure he knows the answer, it's better confirm than assume.

 

Fenris nods. He has to look away, unable to watch as Anders slowly descended down towards his feet. By the time the mage was crouched down at the end of his legs, Fenris has both his hands covering his face, completely unable to look down. When he senses Anders’ hesitation, he nods his head and spreads his palms just far enough to speak.

 

“You may… touch me,” he says, his entire body already tight as a bowstring.

 

Anders inhales sharply, he finds himself torn between two thoughts. He wants to make Fenris feel good but he doesn't want to upset his lover more than he already is. When the elf gives his permission, his hands start out slow. His thumbs gently stroke up the arch of Fenris' foot, sliding gently over the callouses.

 

"See? That feels good, doesn't it?" The blond mumbles out.

 

Fenris sucks his lips into his mouth, his hands still covering his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, and Anders watches as the lines of his belly tense up in delight. It _does_ feel good. Fenris has never had a hand on his feet through his entire life, he’s never even touched his own feet unless it was to remove glass or splinters or tend to other injuries. He’d been too afraid to come to terms with the fact that a creature as lowly as him could only ever have his feet touched by his own hands. It felt too pathetic.

 

But Anders is willingly touching his feet, willingly bringing himself to Fenris’ lowest point with love and _respect_ , even for this dirtiest of places on Fenris’ body. He’s willingly touching the part of Fenris’ body that has carried him through his entire life, taken every wound, every scrap of dirt, every filthy surface he’s walked across. Anders is touching him there with his hands, his pure hands, the hands of a healer, clean and uncalloused and gentle, hands devoted wholly to the selfless nurturing of others. It’s mind boggling for the elf. Tears spring up in his eyes, hidden his hands, and his thighs tremble.

 

Anders only pauses in his devoted work to pour more oil into his hands, the elf's feet soak it up desperately. The healer digs his fingers into the top of Fenris' foot, slowly working his way downwards into the sole. He knows this is a momentous step in their relationship and won't do more than Fenris is comfortable with. He works his digits in-between toes, pausing to gently pop them with a slow pull.

 

“Yes,” Fenris says finally, hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion. “It feels…. it feels _good.”_

 

"Good." Anders whispers back when the elf finally speaks up. "I want you to feel good." His hands work up to Fenris' ankle before he switches to the second foot. He hums under his breath, whispering soft sweet words as he kneads into the cracked skin. Anders didn't see his hands in the same light that Fenris did, his hands were meant for pleasure as much as they were meant for healing. They were just hands to him, hands that could help.

 

"Do you want me to sing to you?"

 

“Sing?” Fenris is panting now, his upper body writhing with pleasure and emotion. He’s tossed an arm over his face instead, his mouth free to pant and grunt whenever Anders’ fingers brush over a sensitive part of his foot. Most of the time he doesn’t feel pain in his feet, they’re so calloused. But if Anders applies pressure in the right place, it has his legs twitching as sensation jolts up through his thighs into his belly.

 

Anders huffs out a laugh, fingers gliding strong over the top of Fenris' foot. "Yes, sing. I do it in the clinic from time to time, I'm surprised you've never heard me." His eyes roll up to watch how the elf's body twitches and reacts to his massaging. This might become a regular thing if this is how Fenris reacts to it, it's… erotic. "It seems to calm my patients down and thought I'd offer it to you too."

 

“Alright,” Fenris gasps, his lips twitching when Anders’ fingers grind into a tender spot, and he gives an unbidden whimper. He bites his lower lip, canines shining in the semi-darkness of the candles.

 

Anders laughs through his nose, this was definitely becoming a favorite of his. He almost regrets asking Fenris to sing but this wouldn't be the last time he put his hands on these feet. His singing voice is nearly similar to healer's tone, gentle and reverberating. The song is in another language but the tone is enough to understand the emotions behind it, a love song more than likely.

 

The singing that rings in Fenris’ ears only makes his eyes leak more. It’s embarrassing, how worked up he’s getting over having his feet massaged, but the love and affection Anders is pouring into him through those skinny fingers is enough to have him shaking. The pressure points he rubs against, the oil he rubs into his feet, has him trembling like a kitten.

 

He didn’t even realize at first until he felt the first near-painful throb, but his cock has woken up, standing up on his hips, cherry red and leaking. He whimpers again, the sound bitten-off behind his teeth, shame welling up in him and doing its level best to grow larger than the pleasure. If Danarius could see him now, writhing on a bed, aroused by a foot massage, making a mockery of every man who is _truly_ worthy of attention like this, unlike him--

 

He gives a tortured-sounding sob, his hands rising once more to cover his face.

 

Anders' hands hesitate at the sound of the elf's sob, his eyes dart up from the foot he's working on and realizes what it is that made Fenris so ashamed. A momentary debate in his head confirms that he should continue his massage instead of comforting Fenris, he understands that coddling him might only make things worse.

 

"Next time, I think I should soak your feet first. That would help open the pores so that I can soften these callouses." The massage continues for another ten minutes, expert fingers pushing and pulling the knots apart. He pays careful attention to Fenris' toes, making sure they tingle with pleasure before he returns to the arch. Fenris sobs with pleasure, twisting away from it on occasion when it becomes too much for him to bear. Anders is patient with him, waiting for him to drop back down to his back and relinquish his foot once more to the healer’s hands.

 

There is no pleasure like this that Fenris has ever experienced. It’s white-hot, blinding, searing, very nearly painful it feels so good. Fenris reels from it, struggling to keep up with the torrential downpour of implications that pelt him with every tender glide of Anders’ oil-soaked fingers.

 

Anders’ hands slip along his ankle, pausing just at the swell of Fenris' calf. "Do you want me to massage everything else or should I come give you a kiss?"

 

Fenris opens his arms for Anders, desperately, exposing his tear-streaked face. He wraps them around the mage’s shoulders and buries his face in Anders’ chest, sobbing as the agony of unworthiness that has been building in his chest his entire life with Danarius comes to a crest and pours out his mouth. This one gentle men has made him feel _worthy._ Never in a million, million years would Fenris have suspected anyone could make him feel this way.

 

"Fenris." Anders whispers gently when the elf pulled him down and he gently brushes fingertips over his hair. He turns to lay next to Fenris, his digits drag gently over a dark cheek. His lips brush along a pointed ear as he murmured sweet words into it. "I wasn't aware that my hands could feel so good." It was supposed to be a joke, a terrible joke but that was something Anders did quite often.

 

"I love you."

 

Fenris only sobs harder. He clings to Anders desperately, outpouring years of pain and anguish, years of potent inadequacy and suffering with the knowledge that he would never amount to more than a foot rest with a pulse.

 

And then one man came along and challenged everything, gave him everything freely because he wanted to, because he looked at Fenris and he saw _worth._

 

He tucks his knee between Ander’s legs so he can hold himself closer to the mage, and rocks his hips forward, rubbing his cock against Anders’ thigh. He breathes in against his neck, smelling the soap and the natural scent of Anders, woodsy and clinical and clean. He drags Anders on top of him, his oiled feet soft as silk as they move over the sheets.

 

“Take me,” he requests, dragging his hands up Anders’ back to tangle in his hair. “Please, I want to feel more.”

 

Anders pulls back as best he can to stare down at the elf, he was hesitant but not unwilling. He could never say no to Fenris especially when it came to something like this. "Okay but you have to let me do it slowly." His lips press gentle kisses down along his lover's neck, pausing to suckle at a tattoo, the lyrium tingling on his tongue.

 

"I want to give you pleasure that you've never had before. I want to touch you in all the places you haven't been touched, kiss you until you melt underneath me." He whispered against Fenris' warm skin. "Will you let me do that?"

 

Fenris’ whole body feels tight, like his skin has shrunk, sticking too tightly to his muscles. It makes him itch, makes him want that sighing relief of pleasure. His sexual relationship with Anders had so far consisted of the mage bent over various surfaces while Fenris worked out his aggression on him. Never before had he asked for Anders to take the lead.

 

He’d only ever been touched that way by Danarius, and it was never for his pleasure. Anders had reassured him when they began their relationship that he would eagerly assume the receiving role for however long they remain a couple, and made no move to push Fenris to bottom. He understood Fenris then, and he understands Fenris now.

 

Anders never complains about being bent over various surfaces, he enjoys every sexual encounter they have. Honestly, he preferred to be on the receiving end of things for most occasions. Especially when it came to Fenris, he was always so controlling and the healer found that he enjoyed letting someone else take the lead. It gave him just a few moments of peace at a time, knowing that somebody other than Justice took his mind and controlled it with commands.

 

Fenris has never trusted anyone like he trusts Anders. Nobody has ever looked Fenris in the face and respectfully hated him before. It took him a long time to realize that Anders’ disdain for him didn’t come from a place of superiority, but rather equal standings, and that marked the exact moment Fenris’ resolve against him began to crumble.

 

Anders is a healer. His hands only ever do good things, and only for good people. He’s marked Fenris among those people. He’s marked Fenris as good. That’s all Fenris could ever hope to ask for.

 

“Yes,” he says finally. “Please.”

 

The blond thought he'd never find love again but he found it and in the most unlikely place. Fenris' love was like fire, all consuming and warm. Anders could barely believe that the elf loved him, trusted him enough to let him do something like this.

 

"If at any time, you don't like what I'm doing, tell me and I'll stop." With that, he began at Fenris' ear. His tongue traces up to the tip, lips wrapping around it to suckle teasingly. His other hand dips between their bodies, slowly spreading the elf's legs more. Anders' slick middle finger rubs gentle circles against the tight furl of muscles between Fenris' cheeks while his teeth tease against an earlobe.

 

It’s already immediately different. He clings to Anders, grappling with the instinctive desire to give in return, to _earn_ any touch that doesn’t hurt, because to just accept it would be greedy. Tonight isn’t about that, he reminds himself. He doesn’t have to earn this, because Anders wants to give it.

 

“I like it,” he gasps lamely, embarrassed by his own lack of flowery language. He would have liked to wax philosophical for decades about the sensations alone that Anders can pull out of his body like magic, but when it comes to it, all he can wring out is a few insufficient words.

 

He scratches at Anders’ shoulders as fingers spear him and open him with the same oil Anders had used to rub away more than just callouses from the elf’s feet. Tears flow from Fenris’ eyes as little by little his muscles start to release the notions they’ve held all his life.

 

Anders loves the way the elf talks, straight to the point and honest. He would never ask Fenris to change that, not in a million years. His lips press a gentle kiss behind one ear before continuing to pepper kisses down over his chest where he pauses to give both nipples some attention. The tip of his tongue traces circles around one and then the other, dutifully kissing each before nuzzling against his chest.

 

The healer was ever so gentle, his fingers attentive to make sure he didn't rush through this even if he was eager to bury himself inside Fenris. Digits twist and curl upwards to reach at the elf's bundle of nerves buried inside him, sending a low current of electricity from his fingers into it.

 

Immediately Fenris jolts and smacks a hand down on Anders’ chest a little too hard. He yelps and twists away, growling out an embarrassed, “No magic!”

 

Anders startles a bit at the elf's reaction, his eyes going wide. "Sorry, love." He murmurs sweetly and uses his fingers to rub gently against Fenris' prostate. "How's that? Better?"

 

“Mmm…… better,” he drops his head back onto the blankets and relaxes into the touches again. It still blows his mind how he can make requests and have them honored in the next moment without any struggle, without any pain or fanfare, without being expected to earn the right to have his requests met-- it still blows his mind that relationships like this _exist_ , and that he’s _part_ of one.

 

His muscles unclench when he’s sure Anders isn’t about to do it again, and he turns to hide his face in the mage’s neck, his legs spread wide and one arm thrown around his shoulders to cling tightly to him.

 

“Please,” he gasps again once two fingers become three and he’s so slick with oil that he’s started to give off embarrassing sounds with every pump of Anders’ fingers.

 

The healer takes his time working his fingers inside Fenris, it wouldn't pleasure him any more than it would please the elf if it hurt. His lips continue their assault against Fenris' feverish skin, tongue lapping at the sweat. 'Please'. It's all his lover needs to say and Anders pulls back to grab the oil.

 

A generous handful pours onto his palm before coating his cock with oil, his tongue traces over his lower lip as he stares down at Fenris. "Are you sure?" He asks again, Anders has to make sure. He wants to give Fenris an out just in case he changes his mind. "If you've changed your mind, it's okay."

 

“Yes,” Fenris gasps, legs spread, face flushed, the hollow of his throat shiny with sweat. He looks up at Anders like he’s looking at the face of the Maker himself, adoring and reverent.

 

And when Anders slides inside him, his whole body goes tight like a bowstring, arching up and tensing. He groans with pleasure as he feels his body open up in a brand new way. Re-writing muscle memory isn’t easy, but he finds himself enjoying the process. The back of his mind yells for him to lie still, to make no noise, just like Danarius always liked it-- but all he has to do is open his eyes and look up at the radiant face of Anders and those thoughts are swept away.

 

“Go,” he whispers, nodding. “Go, go.”

 

Anders doesn't move at first, he simply stares down at his lover with unadulterated adoration. All the love he felt for Fenris is written on his features, glittering from the fine sheen of sweat on his pale features. "You look so beautiful." He whispers, his digits brushing gently along the elf's cheek. "I don't know what I did to deserve you. I can only hope that I can continue to do it."

 

The blond leans down to press a sweet kiss to Fenris' lips before rocking forward into the elf, he was slow and precise with his thrust.

 

Fenris throws his arms around Anders’ neck, holding on for dear life when even his first couple thrusts send pleasure skittering up his body. “Oh, Maker,” he growls, his head pressing back into the pillows, damp hair falling around his head in a snowy halo. He never thought pleasure like this could exist, let alone that he would be worthy enough to receive it.

 

He bounces on the sheets, his entire body loose and comfortable, a low, tingling hum of pleasure thrumming through his belly and out to each and every limb. His cock is standing at attention, throbbing and dripping, but he feels no rush to touch himself. He feels no rush to do anything right now, other than just to lay back and allow himself to be taken care of. It’s a foreign concept to him still, but one he’s slowly getting used to.

 

“Anders,” he whispers, running his hands up through the mage’s hair, lacing his fingers together at the back of his neck as he looks up at him tearfully. When Anders meets his eye, his resolve cracks and he turns his head to the side, grinding a hand into his eye as he starts, again, to cry.

 

Anders can't take his eyes off the elf, he wants to watch every shift in that expression, all the pleasure written in the lines. This is the ultimate act of trust for Fenris and it's for him, a mage. He thought nothing nor anyone could ever love him again, and yet here he is, nestled between the legs of an elf who had been abused for years by men like him. Anders hopes this isn't a dream, he doesn't want to wake up to an empty bed and the ghost of Fenris' voice in his head.

 

He blindly scrambles to grab a pillow, lifting the elf's hips enough to prop them up on it. The angle helps him thrust into Fenris' prostate, the silky glide of his insides cause him to moan. Anders whispers something incoherent as he leans down to slide his lips over his lover's cheek, his lips murmuring words of worship and adoration into a pointed ear.

 

“Oh, Maker!” Fenris’ voice bursts out through his chest when a new and potent surge of pleasure shakes up through his whole body. Anders’ cock passing his prostate is indescribable, he would accuse Anders of using magic again if he didn’t know that he’d put Anders in this same position many times before and watched him fall apart. Not to mention, his trust in the mage lends him the strength of will not to give into suspicions like that.

 

Maker, he trusts Anders more than anybody in the world. He trusts Anders to be good to him even when he isn’t good to himself.

 

“I love you,” he sobs hoarsely, the emotion getting to be almost too much for him as he rubs his hands up Anders’ arms to spread his hands on his chest. “Maker, I love you--”

 

There were days when Anders couldn't believe his luck, and this, this was one of them. His own eyes well with tears when he hears Fenris' words, threatening to spill out and unto the elf's chest. "I love you." He whispers fervently. "I love you more than the world, more than my magic."

 

As if to prove this, Anders sits up and slides a hand down the elf's leg. His hips continue to thrust into Fenris while he pulls the leg up, gently maneuvering it so he wouldn't hurt his lover. His lips press a gentle kiss against the sole of his foot, making a line up to his toes. A hand wraps around Fenris' ankle while the other grips at a hip, he places little kisses against the elf's toes.

 

Anders wasn't a man for feet but after seeing how the elf reacted, he couldn't help but offer something more. A show of pure unadulterated devotion, kissing Fenris' feet must have been it.

 

Fenris claps a hand over his mouth when Anders begins to kiss his feet. Not only does it somewhat tickle, and it would be rather embarrassing to burst out laughing in the middle of this, but the emotion building up in him has him nearly screaming.

 

“Anders, it’s dirty--” he finally manages to gasp out. Nevermind the fact that he’d just come out of the bath, nevermind the fact that Anders had just scrubbed his feet clean and soft with oils, it’s the very concept of it that’s dirty. He would kiss his master’s feet when told to because that’s how Danarius would exert power over him-- a display to show that even when his feet are filthy, Fenris would still obey without question because obeying master was more important than fearing dirt or illness.

 

"Nonesense, it's not dirty." Anders whispers against his ankle when he turns to stare down at the elf, he places another kiss against the bone. "Your feet are perfectly clean. I'll prove it to you." The healer shifts, his hips don't hesitate to keep thrusting into Fenris as his tongue draws a long line up to his toes but he doesn't stop there. His tongue dips between two toes, laving against the webbing there before he takes the biggest toe into his mouth and suckles.

 

Fenris screams. His body goes rigid and he comes, untouched, his spend shooting over his belly in white streaks. Tears run down his face and soak into his ears and hair, his hands fist the blankets, and he wails like he’s dying. Pleasure like this can’t exist, it’s not possible.

 

Anders pauses when the elf screams because at first, he thinks he's done something wrong. As his gaze turns towards Fenris, he loses some of his tension at the sight of his lover.

 

"I may have to do this more often if that's your reaction." The healer leans down to kiss the corner of Fenris' lips. "May I finish inside of you or should I pull out?" His hips had continued their rhythm throughout Fenris' orgasm but he's getting close to his own release.

 

“Please, please, please,” Fenris chants, his voice breathless and his body twitching as Anders passes his prostate and shoots electric aftershocks through his tired muscles. He doesn’t even have the energy to grab the blankets anymore, he just turns his head into the pillow and bites it, whimpering as his spent and softening cock continues to pulse with every thrust of Anders’ hips.

 

Anders chuckles, he buries his face into the elf's neck and thrusts harder. It doesn't take long for the healer to reach his own climax, to the thought of Fenris allowing himself to be taken, the amount of trust it takes, the fact that he finds Anders worthy of that trust. Anders whispers 'I love you' against his skin as if it were a prayer as he finally tenses up and his own release comes to fruition.

 

When they’re lying side by side again, turned up on their sides just looking at eachother, the haze of quiet peace that falls over them is euphoric. Their fingers trace the other’s naked bodies, touching and looking and watching their chests move with their breath and their pulses beat with their blood.

 

Fenris meets Anders’ eyes, and after just a moment of eye contact, he snorts and scoots forward to bury his face in the mage’s neck, wracked with nearly hysterical laughter.

 

Anders is completely thrown off by the elf's sudden bought of laughter, his brows shoot up as his lips curl into a grin. "What are you laughing about, huh?" His fingers drag down Fenris' hip gently, smoothing along the skin in a loving way.

 

"Does my face look weird? Did I go cross eyed there for a moment?"

 

“You licked my _foot_ ,” Fenris laughs breathlessly.

 

"Hey! You liked it." Anders huffs out a giggle.

 

“I did,” Fenris sniffles, rubbing his face into Anders’ neck. He sighs, content. Nothing could ever describe how he felt. He’s noticed that’s been a trend, since he started courting Anders. “I did.”


End file.
